Restless was the understatement of the century. Sleep? Didn’t see that at all last night. After seeing Caleb, it put a whirlwind into her life yet again. She thought she was rid of that time in her life, no more control, no more—

She heard a swish under the door of her hotel room. She cautiously got up from the couch he was sitting in and headed over; there was a folded up note on the floor.

There was only one person who knew which room she was in, and she still didn’t know how he found her… but she doubted he would do some random note. Heart in her throat, she crouched down and opened it:

“I know where you are, Miriam. You cannot hide any longer.”

Chills ran up and down her spine. She needed to go, run. But, she couldn’t. She couldn’t hide as she had to go back to the conference to finish her talk, thankfully she was the first one on the docket. But she was rattled and looked tired.

Crumbling up the note, she tossed it in the trash bin, and headed to finish getting ready for the day ahead.

She had packed up, knowing she wasn’t staying. Early check out was needed, as she was leaving the next morning.

11:05 A.M. – Veterinary Emergency Conference, Main Hall

Karina stood behind the podium again.

Same room. Same faces. Same slide remote in her hand.

But today, everything felt different… The lights were too bright.

The chairs are too quiet.

The air is still.

Behind her, the screen read:

“Urethral Obstruction: Long-Term Management and Recurrence Prevention.”

She cleared her throat once. Not out of nerves—out of survival. Out of the need to anchor herself in something clinical, something that didn’t feel like a trap.

She clicked the first slide.

⸻

“We covered emergency protocol yesterday,” she began, voice crisp but tighter than usual. “Today we’ll

focus on long-term strategies—especially with recurrent cases. Because what you don’t treat now becomes your midnight emergency later.”

A few quiet laughs. She noted them. Logged them. Let them land in her nervous system like static discharge.

She spoke for ten more minutes; formulas, sedation timing, catheter size, pain management techniques—all muscle memory. Words she could say in her sleep.

And then she caught herself glancing toward the door. Just for a second. No one came in.

Still, her palms felt damp. Then it was Q&A time.

A question came from the back:

“Dr. Cortez, how do you balance high-risk cases when you know the outcome might still be poor?”

It was a fair question. One she’d answered a hundred times.

But this time, she hesitated. The image of a girl in an apron beside a blood-streaked gravel road flashed in her head.

And then—

A hotel hallway.

A folded note on the carpet.

His handwriting.

She gripped the sides of the podium tighter.

Then she answered—calmly, clearly. “I remind myself that outcomes aren’t always the measure of our work. Sometimes, showing up—fully, despite the fear—is the work.”

⸻

They clapped when she finished.

Not thunderous, but sincere.

Karina smiled—barely. A short nod. A thank you. Then she stepped down from the stage, walked past rows of polite strangers and curious eyes, and kept walking. Past the coffee tables. Past the exhibit booths. Into the nearest restroom.

She locked the stall door and sat.

Not to cry. Not yet.

Just to breathe. She washed her hands in cold water until the chill ran up her arms. She stared at herself in the mirror again.

The woman who looked back wasn’t sixteen.

Wasn’t lost.

Wasn’t owned.

But she was afraid and angry.

Karina pressed her palms flat on the counter. —

Karina.

“You don’t get to have this, Caleb.”

She whispered it like a promise.

Then she dried her hands, smoothed her collar, and walked back into the conference.

Still shaking.

But still standing.

——

Back at the hotel now, 1:47 P.M.

The keycard beeped.

Karina stepped into her hotel room slowly, shoulders tight, scanning instinctively: bed, desk, bathroom door—ajar but still.

Nothing was out of place.

Not obviously.

Her suitcase sat where she left it. But something was wrong. It was a feeling, at first. That shift in the air.

The stale hum of a room someone’s been breathing in for too long.

She closed the door behind her.

Lock. Chain. Chair. Like last night.

Then she moved toward the bed and saw it. Her clothes— the ones she had left out for the flight home, but there was an extra shirt that wasn’t hers.

She froze.

It was a white linen button-down, faintly wrinkled, like it had been worn and discarded without care.

Men’s. Large. Smells that are familiar.

Her chest hollowed. She didn’t own that shirt, she hadn’t seen it in ten+ years, but she knew it. The smell. In the bathroom, the mirror fogged slightly. The air smelled faintly of shaving cream.

She opened the medicine cabinet she hadn’t touched since checking in—and saw it.

A disposable razor.

Not hers.

Used.

Placed neatly next to her toothbrush. Her hand reached out, stopped, then slowly withdrew.

She backed out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to hyperventilate.

He’d been in here.

He’d taken his time.

He’d left no mess.

Just signs.

Signs that said: I’m close. I know you. You still belong to me.

She didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

Karina sat perfectly still, like a rabbit caught in a spotlight. Her body coiled tight. She stared at the wall

with a clinical detachment she’d honed in years of emergency rooms. Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

She didn’t answer.

A text followed:

“Tidy place.

Like you.

But you always made the bed before you left.

You’re slipping, Miriam.”

Her stomach turned..

Then finally, she moved methodically. She photographed everything— shirt, razor, now a screenshot of the text. She didn’t call hotel security. Not yet. Caleb wouldn’t leave fingerprints. He was too careful for that. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of panic.

But she emailed the photos to herself—and to a second, hidden account.

She also packed. Fast. For half a second, outside, the London air hit her sharp in the face. Cold and clean.

She walked fast down the block, disappearing into the crowd. Her bag at her side. Her pulse loud in her ears.

This was war. And she wasn’t sure what to truly do at this point..